


so lovely, goddamn pretty

by watchtheleaves



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Friends With Benefits, M/M, OH YEAH THIS IS BASED ON CRAZY BEAUTIFUL BY AUSTIN P MCKENZIE, a lot of pining, a whole fuckin lot of it, all the newsies are dating other newsies, and i don't really know how this happened, but expect not a lot of dialogue, but it's here so, canon compliant kinda? takes place after the strike, i mean it's me so ofc it's descriptive, longest one shot i've ever written, race and albert getting their shit together part one thousand, spot is done with the gays, thank you spot, this is really descriptive, what even are these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchtheleaves/pseuds/watchtheleaves
Summary: "in fact, they say he's quite the lover."kisses and unfortunate misunderstandings shortly after the children's crusade.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon/Elmer Kasprzak (minor)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	so lovely, goddamn pretty

**Author's Note:**

> hi! hi! hi!!
> 
> the tags say it all. this is my longest one-shot ever i'm pretty sure, and i don't know how to feel about that. but once again, i love race and albert with my life so i couldn't not post this one. no trigger warnings, just long paragraphs. enjoy!

Albert wasn’t in any rush to be kissed.

It was true. He wasn’t asking for it, and it’s not like a thousand guys were willing to break the law to do so. So he never thought about a first kiss, not as much as he thought about newspaper prices and surviving the next week.

He didn’t believe his eyes — his  _ ears _ when Jack said it. People all around him started cheering, jumping, hugging, but he didn’t trust his brain. Not until his gaze fell on Race’s only half a foot away and he just knew it was true. There was no way in hell his brain could make up the constellations inside those joyful blue eyes.

“We won,” Romeo exclaimed, no, nearly  _ cried  _ into his shoulder as he hugged him tightly.

“We won,” Albert echoed. He didn’t notice when Romeo turned into Finch, into Elmer, into Smalls, into  _ freaking _ Crutchie. He hugged more people that day than he’d done in his sixteen years of life, and all he could say while doing so was  _ we won _ ,  _ we won _ ,  _ we won _ .

It was mostly in the little things he picked up — like how Jojo switched languages when he was excited, or how Jack only let people see him cry when the moment was right. Newsies Square was packed and loud and New York had never seen so many kids in pure and honest celebration.

Two weeks. Two whole weeks they had stood their ground. Two whole weeks they didn’t eat or drink or laugh or sleep the same. Two weeks. And now, it was over.

There was only one person Albert hadn’t hugged that evening.

Racetrack Higgins was a relatively easy person to read, or so Albert thought, at least. He lived with his emotions blooming on his skin, exposed, exhibited. What could’ve been his greatest weakness, he turned into his biggest skill — Race didn’t have to say what he was thinking. People knew as long as he wanted them to.

Albert had only seen his face for a split second before being dragged by the cheering multitude someplace else, but it’d been enough. Race was glowing, maybe like never before. He wasn’t just happy — he was relieved. He was tired and exhilarated and felt like the biggest person ever.

“Hi,” a body dropped in the chair next to his.

Jacobi’s was crowded and loud. Albert looked up from his third drink with a smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. He wasn’t drunk in alcohol — not  _ just _ — he was drunk in power. High on it, even.

Race looked damn good in plaid.

“Hey,” he said back. “You’s got sumn’ to drink yet?”

“A bit,” Race replied, smiling mockingly. “You’s drunk.”

Albert pushed him lightly, then studied him for a moment. “So is you!”

Race stick his tongue out, getting up when whoever was playing the guitar started playing a familiar tune. He extended his hand for Albert to take — Albert, in exchange, smacked it and stood up on his own, following him nevertheless to the center of what could be called a very crowded dance floor.

He was surrounded by his best friends in the whole world, all dancing in couples.

“Didn’t see much of you today,” Race said, catching his attention. They both swayed with the music, not nearly conscious enough to find it ridiculous. “Y’got carried away with y’friends.”

Albert shrugged. “I knew I’d see ya later, so,” Race nodded. His face lit up the following instant.

“Wanna see something cool?”

The roof of every building was different — the height, the space, the use you gave it. The rooftop of Jacobi’s diner was wide and deserted, as if abandoned, not taken care of. Stray. From there, the Lodging House was visible. The sky was clear, and every star was looking back at them.

“Woah,” Albert said, admiring. “Cool.”

Race smiled. “I know. The ol’ man says we can do whatever we wants with this as long was we,” he counted with his fingers, “one, don’t die, two, don’t start a fire, three, don’t break the law.”

“That rules out all of our daily activities,” Albert slurred, sitting down with his legs crossed and taking in the night sky. Race laughed out loud.

“Man. Can you believe it? We won,” he tasted the words. “We actually won.”

They sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder. The cold air had dialed Albert’s drunkenness down from ten to maybe four, and he enjoyed capturing every sound the city had to offer.

“Albie?” Race moved to look at him after a moment. Albert shook himself out of his thoughts.

“Racer?”

“Don’t ya think,” Race tried the words. He shook his head, started over. “We was part of something big, right?”

Albert thought about it for a second. Race’s eyes were sparkling.

“Yeah,” he said as something ran through his spine. “Much bigger than ourselves, I think.”

And really, in retrospect, that didn’t seem like the kind of thing to trigger a kiss-or-run reaction, but alas.

Race opted for the kiss.

They were being reckless, they were being dumb. Albert had never kissed a friend before —  _ hell _ , he’d never kissed anyone to begin with. And there he was, holding onto his best friend like he was his lifeline, grasping his shirt, his hair, cupping his jaw, kissing harder.

By the way Race gasped into the kiss once or twice, he could tell he wasn’t doing that bad of a job.

“We’s breakin’ the law,” one of them whispered against the other’s lips.

“At least we ain’t dying,” replied the other one.

Albert didn’t believe in God, and so he didn’t believe in virginity all that much — he never really cared. And he  _ knew _ Race cared way less, with the way he had already kissed half of Manhattan.

He didn’t feel drunk anymore, kissing Race, taking Race in entirely. He felt intoxicated with something new.

“You’s leavin’,” Albert said, didn’t ask, somewhere later in the night. His back was still lying on the unbuttoned shirt that protected him from the rubble, and his hair was everywhere.

Race smiled at him, pulling his shirt back on. He looked tired and thrilled all at once. Albert didn’t know what to do with that.

“Not like I won’t see you again, right?” He replied, heading for the door. Albert just watched, supporting his upper weight on his elbows until Race was out of sight. Then, he let himself fall back to the ground, sighing.

The stars were shining brighter than ever before.

“Jesus,” he exhaled.  _ What the hell just happened? _

He doesn’t know — blamed it on the alcohol, then and there — if what happened next was a realization or a transformation. Albert didn’t like the way his brain repeated over and over again the images of Race, Race kissing, Race saying, Race smiling, Race admiring  _ him _ .

“You likes Race,” Romeo deadpanned. Albert hit his foot from where he was sitting at the end of his bed, shushing him somewhat pathetically. “What? Not like he’s gonna hear me all the way from Brooklyn.”

Albert tilted his head. “What’s he in Brooklyn for? It’s past curfew,” he frowned.

“Oh, Al,” Romeo said, sympathetically. “You don’t—? Okay. Race’s, well, the kid gets around alright. He an’ Spot Conlon—“

“He’s dating  _ Spot Conlon _ ?”

Romeo scoffed, “Not dating, no, I don’t think. Just… Aw, man. Do I gotta be the one to tell you this?”

Albert shook his head, shrugging. “Race screws around, then. That’s— That’s fine. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Albert—“

“No, it’s fine! Really. We was a one time thing,” he decided. Already stepping out of his friend’s bed, he added, “Please don’t tell? I dunno how he— Maybe we should keep it a secret. Like it never happened.”

Romeo opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it, then opened it again. He settled for a smile. “A’ight, Al. Won’t tell. Cross my heart.”

“I don’t think I like him anyway,” Albert attempted to shrug again. Romeo nodded unbelievingly.

Albert was wrong.

Maybe it was in the way he’d get caught staring, or in how much funnier he found all of Race’s jokes, or in how deeply he missed it when he wasn’t there — when he was off to some Brooklyn adventure, or god knows what.

It was definitely in the way Race always smelled like smoke and stolen cherries, and what Albert used to find a strange combination he now thought of as his favorite scent ever. One that he didn’t want to ever leave his fingertips.

Three days had passed when Race kissed him again.

At that point, Albert could only assume that there was no specific thing one did to get kissed, because he was sure he’d been minding his business as much as possible until he was dragged by the hand to some alley, pushed against a wall, and—

“Race,” he said. Kisses were being deposited on his lips, on his cheeks, on his jaw, on his neck, on his— “Race. Race. ‘Tonio.”

Race stopped and looked up. His hair was some angelic, chaotic delight, and Albert admired his agitated face wondering how much of that was his doing. Race’s eyes explored his.

“You’s kissin’ me.”

“Yeah,” Race nodded slowly. “I am— was. Do you not want me to?”

“I, uh.” What kind of question was that? Albert’s eyes flickered down to Race’s lips and back up almost immediately. “I thought we was not gonna do it again.”

Race moved a stray hair away from Albert’s forehead. “Do you want it to happen again?”

Well,  _ that _ was a trigger for a kiss-or-run reaction if Albert had ever seen one. Not that he was planning on running anywhere.

Kissing Race was easy — not that he had anything to compare it with. But to Albert, it was very similar to riding a bike down a hill. The air hitting his face, the neverending adrenaline, the impending sense of danger that was clouded because it just  _ felt so good _ . It was a newfound freedom that Albert just never wanted to let go of.

The thing about riding a bike downhill is that you eventually have to stop. It comes to an end, one way or another. And one way is definitely more painful than the other.

So kissing Race was easy, until it wasn’t.

Race and Albert had always been best friends. Race had been a newsie since the early age of six, and Albert joined when he was eight, so there was really barely anything of their lives that they hadn’t lived together. They were together when Race got taken to the Refuge the first time, or when Albert finally ran away from home, or when they learned to do cartwheels and had a race down the street.

Albert didn’t know how much of that was in danger. He didn’t like to think about it.

“You okay?” Race asked. Of course he asked. Albert must’ve been easy to read from such a close distance.

They breathed in sync for a moment, Albert’s head on Race’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. He’d learned that was one of his favorite things in the world. Race traced figures in his arm and placed absent kisses on the top of his head.

“Yeah,” Albert breathed. “Just thinkin’, that’s it.”

“You thinks loud,” Race said. Albert laughed quietly. “Is this— Is something wrong?”

Albert looked up at Race and really, he could’ve just said it. He was in love, damn him, in love with his best friend. In love with the one person in all of Manhattan that would never love him back — not like that.

But there was something in the way Race looked at him, the way he waited for his answer, that made Albert hope. Maybe, just maybe, Race could love him back. Maybe Race didn’t kiss the others like that, or he didn’t hold them like that, or he didn’t stay with them like that. Maybe Albert was naive enough to convince himself that holding onto hope that this was theirs and theirs only wasn’t a bad decision.

He kissed Race’s cheek and smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. Not if you’s here.”

Race smiled back and hope came naturally.

The streets heard everything, Albert knew that. He’d known not to mess with secrets ever since Jack ran, ever since Crutchie got taken, ever since the rumors of a traitor leader turned out to be true. The streets never mentioned Jack’s redemption — the streets only ever talked about the worst. Which is why Albert thought his  _ thing _ with Race was safe, because it didn’t seem like a bad thing at all.

“I hear he’s sleepin’ with the King of Brooklyn,” a voice said in the line that formed at the circulation window. Albert straightened his vest with unease.

“Really? Thought he was sleepin’ with DaSilva.”

Albert’s throat dried up.

“Maybe,” another voice replied. “Just anoth’a one for the collection, right? Good ol’ Racer.”

He paid for his papers and moved out of the line.

_ I heard he’s screwin’ Conlon. _

_ I saw him make out with some guy from Queens. _

_ Isn’t he seein’ DaSilva? _

_ Poor Albert. Another one of his victims. _

“Woah, Albert,” a hand landed on his chest. He looked up, eyes wide. “Slow down, hey. What’s wrong?”

_ Poor Albert. _

“You’s hurt?” The owner of the hand asked. His eyes were blue, sky-blue, ocean-blue. Albert couldn’t focus. “Al. Albie. You with me?”

_ Poor Albert. _

He took a step back and Race’s hand fell.

“I can’t,” he said. The words echoed in the empty alleyway they had somehow ended up in. “I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

His hands were shaking. Race looked hurt from just seeing him in that state.

“You’s— See, I don’t judge. Ever. You know I’d never— But I can’t. I can’t do it. Maybe the others can, maybe they don’t care, maybe they do. But I care. Jesus,  _ fuck _ . I care so much, and I can’t— I’m so tired of caring.”

“Albie,” Race took a hesitant step forward. “You ain’t making any sense.”

Albert took as deep a breath as he could, looking away. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable. He didn’t like having to accept that he was in that situation because of his own dumb trust.

“I don’t wanna be anoth’a victim,” he whispered. “I can’t, ‘cause you’s more than that to me, and I— I can’t just sit here and let you be one of the most amazing things in my life when I know I’s just some casual  _ thing _ . You can’t be  _ it _ for me when I’m…”  _ another _ .

He waved a hand. Race looked like he was struggling to understand, and Albert couldn’t bring himself to spell it out.

“Albie, I—“

“I jus’ can’t. This,” he gestured, pointed between them. “This was a mistake. I never should’ve— We can’t— I can’t do it, alright?”

The words didn’t come to Race fast enough, and Albert was turning around before he could react.

“Al,” he called.

“I’s got papers to sell,” Albert shrugged. “And you’s got Brooklyn to visit, I’m guessing.”

The next hours were cold. The days that followed were freezing and disorienting. When over a week passed, Albert started to forget — not Race, ever, of course not. Instead, he began to forget where he ended and his wants, his wishes, his burning yearn started.

Selling someplace else was the easy part. He asked Finch to show him some good spots and quickly changed his routine. Switching bunks, though, was hard. And although Romeo obliged without asking questions, Albert knew he knew why.

Albert also saw or more like caught a glimpse of Race’s face when he headed to a different bunk and not his own. He’d never seen him like that — so hurt, so  _ guilty _ .

“Checkmate,” Smalls exclaimed, sticking her tongue out.

He had plenty of friends. If he didn’t, he’d meet new ones. That’s how the newsies worked together — no kid got left out, no kid got left behind. He was amazing with the little ones, too, and he didn’t find it as annoying as before when he had to do the dishes or the laundry. He often volunteered, in fact.

“Cheater,” Albert half-laughed. Smalls patted his shoulder.

In reality, Albert had built up one hell of an alternate scenario. He didn’t see Race at all some days, and they hadn’t spoken in weeks. Race had even stopped trying after the first couple of weeks. Albert could’ve gone on with the new routine for weeks before realizing that it felt wrong.

If anything felt worse than the pity party he was throwing, it was to throw it alone.

Even walking wasn’t a good option for spending time anymore, because he’d get too lost in his own head to remember in which order his feet were supposed to go one after the other.

“Woah,” someone said when, for the third time in one week, Albert fell face-first to the grass.

Prospect Park. Huh. Irony.

“Al?” The voice asked again. Elmer was already helping him stand up before he realized he’d fallen. “What’ya doin’ here? And— Wait. Are you okay?”

Albert blinked. “Yeah, fine. I was just walkin’,” he shrugged some grass off and attempted to smile at Elmer. Studying him a bit longer, he added, “What’s  _ you  _ doin’ here?”

Elmer turned scarlet.

“El, what’s takin’ ya so—“

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

“Spot Conlon?” Albert spat, dumbfounded. Elmer winced before turning around with a smile.

“Spottie! I’s just helpin’ Al. ‘Cause he fell. So I helped him. You got the snow cones?”

“Right ‘ere,”  _ Spot Conlon _ handed Elmer a pink and white snow cone and held a blue one with his hand, staring at Albert with no shame.

Elmer looked between Spot and Albert for what could’ve been a year before finally speaking.

“So, uh,” he said. “Albert. Whatcha doin’ so far so late?”

“Walkin’. Thinkin’,” Albert said. He didn’t look away from Spot, afraid to lose the staring contest. “You?”

Spot coughed. “We’s on a date.”

“Oh.”  _ Wait, what? _ “Wait, what?”

Albert looked at Spot, then at Elmer, then at the snow cones. His brain was running so fast fireworks could fire up from it.

“Yeah. You’s got a problem with that?”

“What? No, of course I— What do you mean,  _ date _ ?” Albert had lost all capacity to form sentences. “Isn’t you, uh. What about Race?”

Spot frowned. “What  _ about _ Race?”

“Y’know,” he half-whispered. “Isn’t you… together?”

Of all the reactions that question could’ve caused, Albert was not expecting Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn, to cackle out loud. Elmer’s confusion was clear in his expression — because when wasn’t it — but he smiled at his  _ date _ . Albert had officially gone insane.

“Antonio, you mean? Antonio Higgins? Racetrack?” Spot said between laughs. Albert crossed his arms over his chest, starting to feel a little offended. “Oh, man. So, I’s assuming he hasn’t got his shit together with you yet.”

“What? What’s you talking about?”

“Why did you assume we was datin’?” Spot asked, now sliding a hand into Elmer’s.

Albert shrugged. “I knows he’s— I mean, that you’s—“

“Listen, man — Albert, right? Race an’ I, we’s best friends, sure. But we ended that months ago.”

_ Um, what.  _ “What? When?”

“Like, July? Days aft’a the strike, I dunno.”

July. Days after the strike.  _ July, days after the strike… _ Days after Albert and Race were together the first time. Not that that necessarily meant anything.

Albert’s breath caught.

“Why?”

Spot looked at him like he was crazy. Albert thought he maybe was. “Man, he really is a dumbass. He hasn’t said it yet? The big coward—“

“Said  _ what _ ?” Albert snapped.

A beat passed in silence. Then, “kid never stops talkin’ ‘bout you.  _ Ever _ . I thought after he kissed you — he did, right? That’s what he told me — that you’d finally get togeth’a. Guess not,” Spot said like it was nothing.

The words floated in the air for a blessed moment before falling on Albert with the weight of the world.

“ _ Oh. _ ”

The run back home was blurrier than the previous walk, and with the sun barely setting as he left, he was received fifty minutes later by three things: the moonlight, an unbearable leg pain, and the  _ quiet _ .

Race wasn’t home.

“Jack,” he stopped the first person he saw. Jack, startled, immediately scanned him for wounds — it was a reflex. Albert waved him off, gasping for air. “Race. Where’s he.”

Jack bit his lip. “Dunno, Albert. Is he alright?” He asked. Albert was almost on hands and knees and bathed in his own sweat. “Are  _ you _ ?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “No, but I will be. If I find Race. If you see him, can you, uh,” he said.

“Sure,” Jack smiled sympathetically. “He’s not home, but I’ll tell him to find ya if I sees him. Need some water? How long have you been runnin’?”

Albert stood up straight, breathing more calmly. Already turning to run to his next destination, he yelled over his shoulder, “Prospect Park.”

There were very few moments in his life where Jack wasn’t worried half to death about his newsies.

It must’ve been past ten by the way the stars shined over his head. Albert was ready to give up — Race wasn’t home, he wasn’t by the gates, he wasn’t in any of his usual smoking places, he was nowhere to be seen. Albert started to think Race didn’t want to be found.

Until he looked up at the stars.

“ _ We was part of something big, right? _ ”

“ _ Much bigger than ourselves. _ ”

Making a mental rain check to kiss Jacobi or something of the sort to thank him for keeping a ladder to the rooftop on the side of the building, Albert climbed caring less and less about the noise and late hours with every step he made.

Race smoked in silence. He always did. It was a sign that his brain was loud enough that he needed time to put his thoughts in order. Albert looked at him and felt regret for a split second. Race looked so peaceful, legs hanging loose on the edge of the roof as he inhaled air and puffed out smoke. He seemed so at ease that Albert almost didn’t want to disrupt it.

He stepped out of the ladder and the weight shift caused a rattling noise. Race looked up almost mechanically.

Words didn’t come fast enough then, either, because before he could say anything he was on his feet, cigarette long forgotten, and Albert was crossing the distance in two long steps to cup his face and kiss him.

Albert didn’t remember any of their kisses being as slow as that one, and it didn’t take him too long to realize that Race was surrendering in it, letting him take charge, lead. Upon realizing this, something filled Albert’s chest — something he didn’t know he had in him.

“Al,” Race breathed against him, and Albert subconsciously chased the ghost of the kiss that had just ended. Race looked at him with sparkling eyes. “Al,” he repeated.

“Mhm,” Albert put their foreheads together, eyes closed. 

“You wouldn’t let me talk,” he said. Albert bit his lip. “You wouldn’t— I’s not seein’ anyone else, just,” he gulped. The close distance was throwing him off.

“Just me?” Albert asked, almost hopeful.

Race nodded, meeting his eyes. “Just you.”

Something fresh but not necessarily cold ran down Albert’s spine and he breathed a laugh.

“Thank god, ‘cause I met Spot Conlon and he was  _ not _ happy. Called you a coward,” he teased.

Race’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “You met Spot? He— He told you?”

“No, he didn’t — I mean, he did, but,” Albert smiled. “We should thank him. Also, I think he’s datin’ Elmer?”

“You didn’t know?”

“You  _ knew _ ?” Albert exclaimed. Race laughed loudly, head thrown back, eyes closed. It was the most captivating thing Albert had ever seen.

They fell into an easy silence, Race dragging Albert down by the hand to make him sit by him and admire a sleepy Manhattan. Albert couldn’t take his eyes off him. He leaned into Race’s side, and he playfully pushed him before resting his head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” said Albert. The words flew out of his mouth and he saw them make figures in the air. Race looked at him.

“You’s sure?”

Albert thought it over for a moment, then smiled. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

Race smiled a smile so big his face looked brighter. “Good. I love you too.”

The night didn’t end for them until well turned into morning, until the stars turned into rays of sunlight and the cool September air was traded by end-of-summer warmth. They would’ve stayed there, hand in hand, for months and seasons if time allowed so. And so for months and seasons they stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @NEWSIESLIVE on twitter, @whizzcrwins on tumblr! please feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think, those are always always welcome!! also wash your hands and stay inside or there Will be consequences.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
